


Every Rose

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altered Mental States, Aphrodisiacs, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), But like same thing, Consentacles, Other, Suspension, Tentacles, Vines technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 09:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12407349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: To get to the pollen the team needs, someone has to appease the plant guardian.  Shiro steps up.





	Every Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this gif](https://imgur.com/gallery/XowOA).
> 
> Thanks to Demenior for reminding me

Shiro took a deep breath, looking over the field of flowers in front of him.  If he hadn’t been sure he followed the directions perfectly, he would have thought he was in the wrong place.  Or, worse, he might not have known what was out there.

In the center of the field, there was a kind of flower, with pollen that helped keep someone awake and energized, and increased mental function, with very little side effects.  Essentially, it was caffeine plus.

But to get to it…

Well, Shiro was just glad he’d happened to ask about the process during a relatively private conversation.  This wasn’t something he was comfortable asking of the other paladins, even obliquely.  

But he couldn’t say he minded this at all.

Shiro took another moment to fortify himself, going over the procedure in his head.  Step into the flower patch.  Let the planets feed.  They’d make sure he produced what they needed.  Then he could freely take whatever pollen he wanted.  Once they had a fresh sample, Coran could analyze it, and with any luck they’d be able to make a synthetic version for everyday use.

Which meant that Shiro was essentially prostituting himself for coffee.  But it was a lifetime supply when he hadn’t had access in years.  Besides, Shiro had no problems with the act itself.

That settled, he stepped into the field, head held high.  In the pale light of the two moons, Shiro could see fairly well, though the shadows were deep and numerous.

But it didn’t take long for him to see movement.

Tendrils started to rise out of the bed of flowers, long and thick vines that crept closer to him.  Shiro continued to walk up, swallowing against his nerves.

As the first vine reached out to him, Shiro put out his left hand, letting it touch there first.

It was hard to tell colors apart in the dark, but the vine seemed to be a dark, healthy-looking green.  The tip lightened into oranges and yellows, splitting into a thick, bulbous design almost like a pinecone or an artichoke.  When Shiro pressed his fingers to the side, it yielded slightly to him.  It wasn’t squishy, but it had give.  Fibrous.  It was also soft, with no hard edges that Shiro could feel.

Only a good thing, considering.

The vine - tentacle, honestly - pressed against Shiro’s palm, a whisper of velvety texture.  Then he nudged in harder, tracing the lines and then beginning to wind down Shiro’s arm.  It tugged him in closer, but gently.  A suggestion rather than a forceful command.

Shiro went easily.

While the vine continued to wind further down Shiro’s arm, another brushed through his hair.  This one was wet, and the stands of Shiro’s bangs stuck to it for a few moments until it continued on its way.  Then it traveled down Shiro’s forehead and cheek, leaving a sticky, sweet smelling residue on his skin.

That would be his help, then.

Shiro turned his head toward the vine.  His lips parted, but just barely.  This was the point of no return.  When Shiro took this step, it would be much harder to tear himself away.

Even so, he opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue, brushing the wet tentacle.  The pattern gave under his tongue, and more of that sweet liquid gushed out.  It dripped down Shiro’s chin and neck, staining his already dark shirt.

Taking that as the invitation it was, the vine pressed inside.  The fit was tight, and Shiro’s lips strained to take all of it, but the maybe-petals were flexible enough to push through and settle against his tongue.

Shiro’s mouth filled completely with the sweet water.  He had to swallow fast to keep up with it, and he breathed faster through his nose out of instinctive discomfort.  It didn’t hurt, but it was vulnerable to be held so far open.  If the plant chose, it could easily hurt Shiro right now.

Luckily, it didn’t seem to be interested in that. The vine gave tiny wiggles, pressing the petals against his tongue and teeth, which forced out more of the liquid.

Shiro drank.  He breathed in the heady, sugary smell.  He closed his eyes and let himself just feel.

One thing he hadn’t asked was how long the water took to affect someone.  He could already feel heat through his body, though that was just as likely to be placebo than the actual chemicals.

But it didn’t matter.  Because Shiro’s nipples hardened under his shirt, and his cock began to twitch and take a deeper interest in the proceedings.

As if that was the signal the plant had been waiting for, the first vine pulled away with a sudden snap.  It moved to his stomach, wriggling until it pushed his shirt up, then slid against his bare chest.

The tendril was surprisingly warm, and fantastically soft.  It was like being brushed by a rose, without any worry for thorns.  The velvet petals rubbed with surprising force, exploring the line of his muscles up to nearly his throat, then circling back down.  Shiro groaned, pressing his chest into the sensation. 

Encouraged, more tendrils started to reach up from the flowers, finding new places to touch.  A wet tendril pushed up the back of his shirt, leaving sticky stains as it traced the line of his spine and rubbed against the back of his neck.  Another wrapped around his waist, thicker and heavier than the rest, squeezing like it was getting a feel for his size and sturdiness.  Two more found his left leg, one twisting around his calf, the other around his thigh.

It should have been disconcerting.  Worrying, even.

But instead Shiro moaned, still muffled by the vine steadily rocking in his mouth.  He swallowed eagerly, feeling the sweet liquid join the heat in his stomach, building into something greater.

While he had the chance, Shiro reached down and undid the fly of his pants.  Then he pressed his toe to the heel of his boots so he could kick them off.  The vines had so far been clever about getting around his clothes, but he’d rather make this easier and make sure there was as little damage as possible.

As soon as the boots were off, the thick tendril around his waist tensed.  Another wrapped around his right ankle, and all four on his legs and hips pulled.

Then Shiro was hanging in the air.

That hadn’t been in part of what Shiro had been told, but he couldn’t care less.  Instead, he started to suck on the petals in his mouth, eagerly lapping at the still leaking liquid.  Forget whatever that caffeine pollen was, this was what Shiro wanted to start every morning with.  He felt awake and energized, lit from within by light and heat.   Since escaping the Galra - since the Kerberos mission, really - there had been so many urgent matters pulling at his time and attention, so many people in such close proximity, so little time to himself.  It had been a long, long while since he’d indulged.

The vine around his waist writhed, moving up and out of the way, as yet another pressed against the swell of Shiro’s ass.  He bucked back against it, moaning around his mouthful.

Pausing, the tendril prodded again, like it was testing the reaction.  When Shiro pushed into it again, it darted up and wrapped around his waistband.  With his fly already gapping open, the fabric slid down easily, bunching where a vine still securely held his thigh.

Shiro gasped, or at least tried to.  The cool air brushed against his overheated skin, and making his cock twitch and leak.  Precome beaded from the slid, then slowly dripped down and into the flowers below.

The whole plant shuddered.  The entire field seemed to shake with an unseen wind, and every one of the vines gave a squeeze or a buck.

Then it exploded into movement.

Shiro lost track of where each tendril was.  There were several on his legs still, either helping to hold him up, or pulling his legs apart as wide as possible.  A wet one pressed between his ass cheeks, rubbing up and down like someone was grinding against him.  He could feel the slick liquid gush down his thighs, as if Shiro was soaking himself from excitement.

If he could be, Shiro would have been exactly that wet.  His eyes rolled back as he sucked hard, now outright blowing the tendril.  It writhed in his mouth, seeming to enjoy the stimulation.  Bucking back eagerly, he tried to convince the one on his ass to give him when he needed, to press inside, to fill him with the sticky sweetness, to use him-

Finally, the wet, gushing petals pressed against Shiro’s hole.  He was unstretched, but the liquid was slick and wet, and the vine couldn’t have been more than two fingers thick.

It pushed into him with one long, wet thrust.

At the same time, a new tendril wrapped around Shiro’s cock, fitting over the head like a mouth.  It started to move, pulling and closing as it milked Shiro for more of what he’d leaked before.

Groaning, Shiro went wild.  He tried to thrust forward into into the wet hole, then back onto the vine inside.  But he couldn’t move at all, held steadily in mid-air.

“Please,” he tried, though the petals inside his mouth utterly garbled it.  That didn’t matter.  The plant wasn’t listening any language Shiro could speak.  

But it did understand the one he was acting out.  

Finally, the vine inside him moved again.  It didn’t piston in and out like Shiro’s feverish brain wanted.  Instead, it moved from side to side, writhing and twisting.  It stretched his hole open wider and pressed against his walls.  Ever few seconds, it would scrape against Shiro’s prostate.

Crying out, Shiro squirmed uselessly in the tentacles grasp.  He sobbed, eyes totally rolled back in his eyes, drooling out extra liquid as he lost the concentration to keep up with it.  The tendrils under his shirt continued to rub, now finding his hard nipples and flicking against them as if curious.

It was so much.  It was so good.

Shiro came, hard and fast.  Enough that he would have been ashamed, if he could think about anything but the want.

Everything came to a sudden halt, except of the vine on his cock.  It continued to work, drinking Shiro’s come as quickly as it came and draining him of everything he could give.

As his orgasm ended, the vine in his mouth pulled away.  Shiro gave a needy whine, chasing it with his tongue, but it stayed just an inch outside his current range of movement.  He watched with hazy eyes as the petals started to shift.  They pulled apart, gushing liquid anew.  This time it was thicker, heavier looking.  Whiter.

Shiro wanted it.

Keening loudly, he strained again, and this time managed to get his lips just on the base.  He sucked hard, getting as much of the heavy, heady slick as he could manage.  It coated his tongue and mouth like caramel, dripping down his face.

Every part of him it touched began to tingle and heat.

Then, the vine inside him began to shift too.  It grew thicker, sturdier, the very base wide.

Too wide to come out.

Wider than any cock Shiro had ever taken.

Thick liquid sloshed inside of him, blocked by the wide base of the petals.  The tendril inside began to move again, this time rubbing just along one way.

Pressing against his prostate.

Heat shot through Shiro.  He groaned, licking his lips, and mindlessly continued to chase the vine just beyond his mouth.

If he’d been in his right mind, he would have been surprised to feel his cock start to fill again so quickly.  But he didn’t care.   He couldn’t care.  Shiro didn’t give a damn about pollen, about the mission, about the Galra, about his dignity.  He just wanted more.

He just wanted-

Wanted to… to relax.

The heat, which had until then been driving him on, turned into a more content, slow kind of burn.  It relaxed his muscles, leaving Shiro completely limp and pliant in the grip of the plant.  Some of the vines on his legs loosened, until he could Shiro hang bonelessly, bent in half.  His head dangled toward the flowers, ass up high and legs spread wide.

Now with gravity on its side, the plant continued to drill into him.  It rubbed his prostate mercilessly, setting off sparks behind Shiro’s eyes.  He let out a low groan, but otherwise just watched with half-lidded eyes.  Now he could see as the vines rose and moved around him.  He watched as another, smaller tendril pulled his ass cheeks apart, drawing a thick moan out of him..

With each rub and lash inside him, Shiro felt his cock grow harder and began to twitch.  Pleasure caused white spots in Shiro’s vision, blinding to him to anything but the feeling.  All he could do was twitch and moan, his mouth hanging open as he jolted from the harsh movements.

There was no mercy to the plant now, none of the hesitance it had shown in the first few minutes.  Instead, Shiro was mercilessly milked until his body finally gave, and he spilled into the milking vine again.

This time, there was no pause.  There was no stop.  Both tentacles on his nipples continued to flick and rub, the one inside him continued to fuck, and the heat inside Shiro stroked his arousal while also weighing down all his limbs.

Eventually, Shiro’s body started to protest, the pleasure becoming nearly too much as he was played with brutally.  The passage of time hazed, lost in a blur of too-much but not-enough, of a world where there was nothing but need so powerful he couldn’t take it, but couldn’t move away.  Didn’t want to.

At one point, the vine by his mouth moved back.  It pressed against his lips as though testing him, and Shiro took it back in his mouth as far as he could.  At first, the wider base kept him from fully accepting it, but the tendril continued to press.  Finally it popped back in, and almost immediately locked in against the back of his teeth.

Shiro didn’t mind.  He was glad to have something to suckle on again.  It felt good to do it.  It felt right.

This was where Shiro should be.  This was his whole world.  This was what he was.  A receptacle for pleasure that turned it into liquid, into food.

What might have been minutes or might have been hours passed.  Eventually, the thick, unyeilding base of the petals started to soften.  The one in his mouth pulled out first, rubbing over Shiro’s cheek and jawline.  He gave a sleepy murmur, but otherwise didn’t fuss.  His jaw ached from being held open so wide, and the moisture had dried into something tacky and thick, coating his tongue completely.

Shortly after, the vine inside him softened and pulled out as well.  Immediately, Shiro’s hole started to gush, filled with liquid that had nowhere else to go for so long.  Shiro clenched around nothing and whined.  That was-  That was wrong.  That wasn’t how he was supposed to feel.  He needed the pleasure to make the food.  Why had this stopped?

When Shiro whined in protest, the tentacle against his cheek patted over his face, then smoothed through his hair.  The comfort was clear, so he relaxed and let himself be soothed.   For a moment he leaned into the touch, following it drunkenly, then just went limp again. 

Slowly, the tendrils around him started to move.  He was turned over again, this time laying on his side, and all over the tentacles that had been touching him instead joined in wrapping around him.  Still limp and heavy, Shiro could do nothing but watch with detached interest as he was lowered until he could nearly touch the ground.  Then, slowly, the vines all started to move back and forth.

He was being rocked like a hammock.

Nuzzling against the nearest vine, Shiro gave a small smile.  He was being allowed to rest.  He must have done a good job, then, to have such a pleasant place to sleep.  The wet end to one of the tendrils swirled around his stretched hole, but didn’t press inside.  It didn’t feel like before.  The liquid was still thick, but now it was warm.  Soothing.  The tiny flashes of pleasure relaxed him, helping Shiro come down after so much stimulation.

Satisfied, aching and well used, Shiro drifted off in the plant’s embrace.

***

“There you are,” Keith greeted, pausing as Shiro turned down the hallway.  “I was trying to find you to let you know breakfast is being served.  Where were you?”

Shiro gave him a tired smile.  “Couldn’t sleep last night, so I figured I’d get us ahead of schedule.”  He held up a bag and gave it a wiggle.  “Here’s the pollen.”

Eyes wide, Keith stepped over and took it.  As he did, he took a deep breath.  Nose crinkling, he looked him over.  “You went alone?  Shiro, that’s not like you.”

Laughing, Shiro waved him off.  “I asked the locals how to get it.  Honestly, you just had to be friendly to the guardian plant.  Didn’t take long at all, then I could get as much as we needed.  This should be plenty for Coran to make more, I think.  I hope.”

Keith raised a brow, unimpressed. “You wouldn’t accept us just running off.  Why is it okay when you do it?”

“No, I wouldn’t be pleased,” Shiro admitted.  “You’re right, it wasn’t my best choice.  But it was the middle of the night, I wasn’t thinking very straight at the time.  But what’s done is done.”

Giving him one last flat look, Keith nodded.  “Alright.  I’ll take this to Coran and save you a plate.  You go shower off.  How’d you get so messy?”

“The plant was curious,” Shiro admitted.  “And I spent a good while wandering around a jungle.  Showering sounds like a great idea.”  He stretched, long and luxurious.  “I’ll take you up on that offer, yeah.  Thanks.”

Keith’s brows rose, and he gave Shiro an odd look.  “You’re in a good mood for someone who was up so late.”

Grinning, Shiro reached out and put a hand on either of Keith’s shoulders.  “Coffee.”

“You addict.”  Keith smacked his hands away playfully, now outright smiling.  “Go on, get.”

Shiro nodded to him, then wandered off with a spring to his step.

A spring and a slight limp.

Watching him go, Keith tilted his head, wondering how Shiro had hurt himself.  But it was clear he wasn’t in any real pain, so he let it go for now.  He’d probably just tripped while stumbling around in the dark.

With that, Keith turned around and made his way toward the dining hall.  As he did, he tilted his head to the side and took a brief sniff of his shoulder, where Shiro’s hands had been.

Sweet smelling.  Huh.  Odd.


End file.
